


Of birds and songs

by harnatano (orphan_account)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: I can't even, this brotp gives me so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/harnatano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend asked for a fluffy brotp fic about these two nerds. I did my best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of birds and songs

“Brother! Brother, come here! I’m sure you will love it!”  
Waving at Melkor, Manwë was waiting for his brother to join him, enthusiasm gushing from his smile and his voice ringing like a clear bell in the empty street of Valmar. Walking slowly a few feet behind, Melkor only wished to go back to his place, this little dwelling Manwë had had the generosity to offer him when he had been released from the Halls.

“Come on brother, hurry up! If we arrive too late we won’t see the birds!”  
Groaning, Melkor rolled his eyes but he didn’t make any effort to walk faster, at least until Manwë joined him, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into a faster walk. “It will be amazing brother!”

Unable to get away from Manwë’s strong grip, Melkor had no choice but to follow him, both of them striding along the large, silent streets of the Valarin city.   
It was this time of the day when all Aman seemed to be quiet, when the lights of the two trees were melding, the Eldalië and the Ainur enjoying in silence the peaceful atmosphere offered by Laurelin and Telperion. This time of the day when most of the Ainur left their tasks, only to rejoice about the gift of Iluvatar, and when the Vanyar sang and danced and feasted in the name of their gods. Only the birds, the enchanting fireflies and some other creatures Melkor couldn’t name were lingering in the streets, turning Valmar into a fantastic, magical and silent place. 

“Why are we even here?” Melkor finally asked bluntly, still following his brother, still reluctant and even more grumpy, infuriated by Manwë’s enthusiasm.  
“There is something I want to show you, it is one of my favorite things in Valmar. It’s not far from here.”

And indeed, they soon arrived to a little courtyard, in the middle of which was a fountain decorated with a delicate sculpture of Thorondor, the eagle king and Manwë’s dear friend. Many birds were bathing and playing in the clear water which was flowing from the eagle’s beack, their peeps resounding endlessly in the air. 

Letting go of Melkor’s sleeve, Manwë walked joyfully to the fountain and sat on the ledge. A great part of the birds quickly joined him, some of them resting on his shoulders and lap, some others pecking his golden robe. From afar, Melkor observed silently, a gloomy look still darkening his beautiful face.

“Come closer, Melkor.” Manwë called out, beckoning his brother. “They are my friends, and it is time for you to meet them.”  
Wincing, Melkor made a few careful steps towards the fountain, but as soon as they noticed the dark presence, the birds flew away, leaving Manwë’s side to rest on the head of the statue. 

“It is pointless, Manwë. Your friends don’t like me.” Melkor stated darkly. “And I cannot blame them.”  
The Elder King smiled and shook his head slowly, a bright spark shining in his big eyes. Raising his head, he looked up at his friends and very softly, he started to sing. The sweet melody that was leaving his parted lips was clear as the sky, soft as a feather, enchanting and soothing. Melkor observed and listened, though he forced himself not to be touched by the magical song, for he knew too well the power Manwë’s voice had upon him. Closing his mind to the music, he watched the birds leave the sculpture and fly back beside the bright Vala, their soft feathers brushing against Manwë’s cheeks as they rested upon his shoulders. The Elder King hold his hands before him, both of them forming a little cup where a small sparrow decided to sit, and as Manwë brought his hands closer to his face, the bird seemed to gave the Vala a soft kiss. 

Keeping a distance between them, Melkor was still watching, and when the sparrow left Manwë’s hand to find a more comfortable place on his head, the Elder King beckoned his brother again. He was still singing softly, comforting the birds as Melkor stepped forwards. Finally, the dark Vala sat beside his brother, and although the birds seemed unwilling to come to him – Melkor didn’t complain about it- they didn’t fly away.

The song stopped and Manwë gave a bright, happy smile. “This is my brother.” He said to the birds. “He did some terrible things in the past, but now he’s a good person, everyday he becomes a better person, a nicer Vala.”  
Melkor rolled his eyes, his hand rubbing his forhead as a long sigh left his lips.  
“You can welcome him and touch him.” Manwë continued, his head moving from his right shoulder to the left one as he spoke to all the birds who seemed to eagerly listen to him. But none of them approached the dark Vala, for they could feel the inner shadows that lingered within him. 

“Oh do not worry, Melkor.” Manwë said softly. “It might take some time, but they will trust you eventually.”

Melkor shrugged and his eyes left his brother to wander over the statue.  
“Do you like it?” Manwë asked, noticing the interest of his brother for the beautiful piece of art. “It is a gift from Nerdanel, a great artist amongst the Noldor. Maybe you have heard of her, she’s Mahtan’s daughter, and as the spouse of Fëanaro, she is one of the wise and kind princesses of Tirion.”

Melkor bit down his lip at the mentions of the names, but he didn’t say anything.  
“I have a fabulous idea, brother!” Manwë suddenly shouted, making Melkor jump with surprise. “We should ask her to do a sculpture of the two of us, a big one! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”  
A forced smile on his lips, Melkor nodded, but soon he turned away to hide another wince. “Just think about it, brother: You and I, side by side, your arm around my shoulders, smiling and majestic. I can already see it!”

_The day my arm will be around your shoulders will be the day I will strangle you._

The thought vanished quickly, before Manwë could catch it, and Melkor kept on hiding his violent thoughts behind bitterness and sarcasm. 

“You know Melkor, we should really do it.”  
“Do what?”  
Manwë smiled, his hand resting gently upon his brother’s arm. “Make this commission to Nerdanel.”  
The dark Vala glanced at the long, light fingers which were touching him before he shurgged his brother’s hand away. “Hmm. If you say so.”  
“You do not want to?”  
“I do not care.”  
“But I thought you liked this kind of majestic art.” Manwë frowned. “Tulkas said there were many impressive statues of you in Utumno.”

Melkor froze, rage and pain burning in his guts as his brother mentionned his lost fortress. How could he? The words felt like a burning knife on a fresh wound, and Manwë was speaking them with such a casual voice, with this awful, digusting smile on his lips. How Melkor wanted to rip it off, to see these lips melt with the awful kiss of a burning poker. 

“Did you say something Melkor?”  
Unwilling to look at his brother, the dark Vala kept his eyes on the ground. “Do not talk about what you do not know.”  
The smile on Manwë’s face vanished as he realized his mistake. “Oh… Yes, of course. May you forgive me brother, I shouldn’t have talked about it.”  
“Stop that.”  
“Stop what, Melkor?”

Suddenly Melkor stood up and looked down at Manwe, cold flames burning in his eyes, fists clenched at his side and his lips twisted in a terrifying wince. “Stop being kind. Stop apologizing and stop trying to… “ He trailed off, breathless.  
“To do what?” Manwë asked, now genuinely curious and worried.  
“…Stop trying to be my friend.”  
The Elder king blinked, tilting his head as a wave of sheer sadness seemed to fill his blue eyes. “But Melkor… you are my brother. I cannot not be your friend. I love you.”

A loud groan falling from his lips, Melkor burried his face into his hands to muffle the sound of his voice. “Enough with your love!”  
“I do not understand Melkor. Do you think it is wrong to love?” 

_It is wrong to love me._

This time, Manwë caught the thought before it vanished and slowly, graciously, he stood up too and joined his brother’s side. Silently, he allowed his hand to move until it found Melkor’s fingers, yet as soon as he felt the touch, the dark Vala moved his own hand away. Not discouraged by the rejection, Manwë sent his mind to his brother, a very soft jolt of tenderness aimed at Melkor’s closed spirit. The dark Vala felt it, welcoming it with a twitch of his head. The twiches happened sometimes, not as often as they did after they brought Melkor out of the Halls, but they were still there, as a constant reminder of the traumatic experience. 

There was no respond to Manwë’s mental touch, but no rejection either, which instantly brought a smile back to the king’s lips.   
“What are you doing?” Melkor finally grumbled.   
‘I am trying to show you I love you, but you do not let me.” The smile was so soft, so kind, anyone would have fallen for it. But Melkor wasn’t like anyone, and instead he turned away, disgusted. 

“Shall we sit again? Or do you plan to stand here eternally, brother?” A laugh, clear and pure as a bell left the king’s lips, and so gently he pulled his brother towards the fountain again.   
Not without a hiss, Melkor followed, oh so reluctantly he followed Manwë and sat down heavily, paying no attention to the birds he might crush while sitting. Luckily the birds didn’t totally trust him yet, and they all remained around Manwë, avoiding to get too close the dark Vala. 

“Your hair looks better, brother.”   
The Melkor frowned and glared at the black strands which were flowing over his shoulder and down his back. He didn’t really care about how he looked anymore and his hair had never been his priority. A few centuries before they took Utumno, his lieutenant had decided to take care of it and Melkor had allowed it. The Maia had spent many hours brushing his master’s hair, while Melkor worked on his projects for Endor. After Mandos, his hair was but the ghost of what it used to be, a mess of sticky and tangled locks. 

Yet, although Melkor didn’t take care of his hair, it seemed that, surprisingly, the light of Aman was doing it for him. Each day, the black strands looked better, brighter, the knots seemed to disappear and Manwë was pleased with it.

When Melkor felt the soft, gentle fingers of his brother brushing against his skull, his whole body tensed. “What are you doing now?”  
“I am brushing your beautiful hair with my fingers.” The Elder King replied casually,   
“When will you understand that I do not want you to touch me?”  
“I am not touching you, Melkor. I am touching your hair.” A playful smile on his lips, Manwë seemed determined and Melkor knew how hard it was too stop his brother when he had something in mind. 

Confused and clearly not amused, he gave Manwë his darkest glare and folded his arms over his chest to show his discontentment. At one point, Manwë started to sing again, a melody Melkor knew too well for it was older than Arda itself. It was one of the songs Manwë had sang to Iluvatar when they both dwelt in the Timeless Halls. 

This time, Melkor couldn’t prevent himself from listening to it, and as he shut his eyes, as he let his brother run his delicate fingers through his hair, the melody seemed to be scattered throught his body, reaching his heart and filling it with a sweet melancholy. 

Using his hand as a cup, the bright Vala collected some water in the fountain and gently spread it on Melkor’s dusty locks. The fallen one shivered as a few droplets fell on his neck. He could feel them slide down his spine, fresh, pure water which was so rarely touched by any hand. It felt strangely good, and little by little, Melkor relaxed.

“It is my favorite place in all Valmar.” Manwë whispered at the end of the song. “I usually come here alone, but I wanted to share it with you.”   
His eyes still closed, Melkor mumbled a few incomprehensible words which Manwë took for an approval, and soon after the dark Vala spoke again. “Manwë, why aren’t you singing anymore?”  
The king chuckled, his smile growing wider. “Because the song is over. But if you wish to hear more, I could sing another one. Is that what you wish, brother?”

Slowly Melkor nodded, but no more word left his lips, and as Manwë continued to brush and stroke his broher’s hair, another song echoed in the courtyard. It was a song of faith and hope and beauty, a song pure as the sky and yet the notes seemed as strong as the earth. One by one, the birds left Manwë’s side to rest upon Melkor’s shoulders, and the Vala didn’t protest. Maybe he didn’t even notice them, his mind focused on his brother’s voice and his fana enjoying the soft brushes in his hair. 

Manwë sang lengthily, unwilling to make it stop - Oh, If only he could have made this moment last forever. And when a second voice joined his own, when Melkor’s voice resounded beside Manwë’s, when his brother allowed himself to sing with him, a tear of bliss rolled down the Elder King’s face, and all the bells of Valmar seemed to accompany their voices.


End file.
